Prince Christopher and his train meanwhile pursued their way to Sjoeborg. They rode at a slow pace, to suit the convenience of the foreign prelate. The mysterious importance which Cardinal Isarnus knew how to assume as the pope's legate, and the reserve with which he evaded every close question, had worked up the prince to a pitch of anxious expectation, which he vainly endeavoured to hide. Isarnus appeared with a splendour corresponding to his high rank as a dignitary of the church; his richly attired attendants followed him at a respectful distance, together with his famulus and secretary; near him rode the Abbot of Esrom and two foreign ecclesiastics. Isarnus conversed with his countrymen and with the abbot by turns, in the Italian and Latin tongue: his converse with the prince and the margrave was short and abrupt, and carried on in almost unintelligible German. He appeared, indeed, to avail himself of the want of a common language, by leaving every query unanswered to which he considered it might be impolitic to reply. In important negociations he made use of his famulus as an interpreter. Wherever this powerful prelate appeared in the country, he was the object of superstitious awe. The unusual spectacle of the cardinal's red hat worked upon the imagination of the people like the appearance of a comet, and was considered to be as ominous of evil, as that dreaded phenomenon of the heavens. Some of the most ignorant among the lower orders even believed it was the pope himself who had arrived in Denmark to dethrone the king and excommunicate the kingdom; and it was not alone from reverence, but as much from fear, that the wonder-stricken peasants and old women especially, knelt down whenever they encountered the cardinal. His long, sallow, and imperturbable visage, with its expression of cool menace, and foreign aspect, combined with the preconceived notion of a supernatural and mysterious power, seemed endowed with the petrifying influence of Medusa's head. "Dear Sir Pope! harm us not!" frequently whimpered forth the sick and crippled who knelt in his path. He understood them not, and no word proceeded from his thin compressed lips, but he extended his arm, with a cold unchanging mien, and with his three fingers, which sparkled with costly rings, signed over their uncovered heads the silent token of a blessing, which they feared would soon be changed into a curse, for the threats with which he had last left the king and the country, were generally made known through the fears of the clergy themselves, and their zealous exhortations to repentance.